What Goes Up Must Come Down
by Odine
Summary: A Compendium Of The Original Comic Series By The Same Name. THE Series, To Put It More Accurately.


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Leo Shifted His Eyes From The Glass Momentarily.**  
**_  
Who Is She?_

The Girl Who Came To This Bar Twice A Day, Dressed In  
Unseasonable, Mismatched Clothes; Who Spoke Loudly And  
Who's Merry Laugh Sang Disregard For Anyone In The Room,  
Who Always, Though Never To Turn Her Head At Anyone Else,  
Seemed To Glow With An Aura That Captivated The Audience She  
Made For Herself Wherever She Went…  
_  
Who Is She?_

Leo Mason Was The Charismatic Counter Boy At "Cliff's Adult Bar", Had Been Since  
He Was 17 Years Old. He Lead A Life As A Sad-Eyed City Boy, Having Grown Up  
In The Snowy City Of Rochester, New York, All His Life. His Mother, A Devout  
Drug Addict And Child Abuser, Was Committed To Asylum When Leo Was  
Just Sixteen, And Ever Since Has Had No Contact With Her Son- Not That  
She Had Much Incentive To Keep Him Other Than Molestation. Leo  
Found Refuge In The Abandoned Apartment Buildings A Few  
Blocks From Cliff's Place, And Decided To Take Up  
Lodgings There After His Mom Left. Soon  
After, He Found A Job At The  
Bar, Took A Liking  
To The Work,  
And Has  
Lived  
His  
Li  
f  
e

The Latest Going-On In Rochester Are The Series Of October Riots.  
The Town Suffers Plague After Plague Of These, And The Latest Fad  
Is That Led By The Feminist Regime. Day In, Day Out, They March To  
And Fro Along The Slushy Streets, Yelling This And That About Equality  
And Other Nonsense. No One Pays The Riots Any Heed, But Instead Waits  
For Them To Dissipate Into The Snow. That Is The Way Things Go Here In  
Rochester. Things Have Their Heyday, They Last For A Week, And Then Die,  
As Disregarded And Trampled On As The Litter In The Streets. That Is The All  
-Encompassing Cycle:

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WHAT GOES UP MUST COME DOWN  
  
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Kittridge Webb Sat At The Restaurant Table, Stared At His Silver Watch**  
**For The Second Time In The Same Minute. He Never Got Nervous, But  
He Knew A Good Controversy When He Had One In His Hands. And  
No More Than He Would Drop His Ever Present Microphone And  
Tape Recorder Than The Prospect Of A Juicy Controversy...

Mr. WebbWas TheTop ReporterOf _News York_, A Company Proud  
For Its Legacy OfSmash-Hit Stories And Local News. The Unique  
Thing About Them, In Mr. Webb's Mind, Was That Unlike Every  
Other Publication In This Miserable Metropolis, Theirs Was A  
Foundation Of Fundamental Honesty And Respectability,  
The Very Things He Stood For In His Own Life. Not  
For Him Were The Gossip Columns Of His Less-  
Renowned Competitors; He Was A Master Of  
The News, Knowing How To Catch The  
Public's Unpredictable Attention By  
Use Of Sheer, Glaring Honesty.

Never Ignoble Were His Writings (At Least In Portrayal), And The Sensation  
They Caused Was Indebted To This Fact; The Very Thing That Made Them  
Stand Out Was That They Were Not Terribly Incredible. No Bright, Neon  
Lights, No Orange-Pinstriped Bubble Letters, No Showgirls In Sequined  
Underwear. They Were Decent, Sincere, Well-Written Findings…

And This Finding Was Going To Be An Exciting One.

It Seemed That A Local Girl, Who's Name Wasn't Even Known, Had  
Been Stirring Up Quite A To Do Over The October Feminist Riots.  
There Had, Of Course, Been Protestors Before, But Her Very  
Description Had Gone Against Everything One Rationally  
Would Expect. She Was Young (Only 19), Unemployed,  
Living Alone, Unschooled… Seemingly Unbiased In  
Every Way. She Belonged To No One, And This  
(In Hand With Her Almost Barbie-Doll Looks)  
Made Her Popular Among The Young. Her  
Maturity, Rank Individuality, Wit, And  
Unconventional Nature Spread An  
Interest (Of A Taboo Variety)  
Among The Older City  
Dwellers… And On  
Top Of All That,  
She Was A  
WOMAN.

A Woman Against The Feminists.  
A Living, Breathing, Anti-Feminist  
Female, Young, Single, Beautiful…

Whether Or Not They Wanted To, Everyone Was Shifting Their Attention Her Way.

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Kataya Ross Hated Bars. She Hated Drinking,**  
**Hated Cigarette Smoke, Hated Dancing, Hated  
Karaoke, ...And Most Of All, Hated MEN.

(…All The Staples Of A Sleazy Bar.)

She Had To Stick Around For A While, Though… She  
Had Reason To Believe That That GIRL Was Going To Be  
Here Soon, And That Girl Needed A Talking To. And Who  
Better To Do It Than Miss Ross? She Was Princess Among  
The Young, Unhappy Generation Of Women. She Loved The  
Riots, And Found A Place Among Them Every Day. She Loved  
Knowing That Her Place Among Those Strong-Willed Women Was  
Always There; No One Else Could Fill Her Position, And She Knew  
Very Well Her Duties In Standing At This Post: That Girl Had To Be  
Stopped. If They Were Lucky, She Could Even Be Won Over.

Just Maybe.

Anyway, The Sooner The Better. Miss Deleware Was Counting  
On Her, And Kataya Could Not Let Her Down For More Reasons Than  
One. She Shared An Apartment (And Bed) With Mrs. Delaware's Son, Jesse.

"Can I Help You, Miss?"

A Bird-Faced, Fifty-Something  
Man Croaked From Behind Her Seat.  
Kataya Paused, Debated Giving This Man  
Her Attention, And Decided It May Prove To Be  
Of Use. Speaking In The Poised, Smoky Voice She Used  
So Well, She Asked Him, "Is That _Girl_ Coming Here Tonight?"  
He Gave A Knowing Look. "You Are The 5th Person To Have Asked  
Me That So Far… But The First Woman!" At This He Let Loose A Half-Stifled  
Laugh, Left Unfinished Because Of The Bleak, Unsmiling Face She Turned To Face Him  
With. "You Know, I Am Not Really Sure. She Said Something About An Interview."  
Upon Making This Statement, He Scurried Away Back Behind The Counter.

_An Interview? …_Kataya Considered This. _She_ Was Probably Getting  
More Attention Than The Riots Themselves. This Thought Sent  
A Quiet, Red-Hot Bubble Of Rage Up Through Her Body,  
Manifest Subtly In How She Curled Her Violet-Painted  
Fingernails Around Her Napkin: Slowly, And Tensely.

…An Interview Meant Kittridge Webb. And His Favorite Spot  
Was The Rochester Hotel Restaurant, Ten Minutes Away.

Something She Hated To Do, Kataya Stood Up To Allow Her Leave.  
Not That She Minded Going, But The Stares Were Unbearable. Kataya  
Ross Was A Gorgeous Woman- Not Yet Twenty Years Old. Sitting At A  
Table, Her Exquisitely Contoured Head Was Flattering Enough, But Her Legs,  
Her Tanned Arms And Svelte, Cat-Like Body, Now In Full Glory- They Were The  
Star Show For The Next, Painful 15 Seconds. Whistles And Barking Showed Her Out.

_MEN…_

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Clarisse Charmande Had Lived In North New York Since She Was Abandoned As A  
Baby. Growing Up In An Adoption Center, She Had Been Offered A Position As  
Child Prostitute At Seven, And Naively Accepted. Ever Since, She Had Spent  
Life Gutter To Gutter, Money Being Squandered On The Drugs That Held  
Her Emotions Always At Bay. She Found Herself Now Slumped Limp  
In The Hugging Angle Between Dumpster And Stone Wall. Often  
She Asked Why Life Selected This Role For Her, But Declined  
Whenever Presented With Something Else. She Felt Some  
Way Comfortable With The Lifestyle Of An Object  
For The Satisfaction Of Others. Acquiescence  
Was Her Defining Characteristic…One  
Might Say That Her Personality  
Was Defined By Her Lack  
Of Personality. And  
It Suited Her  
Perfectly.

She  
Was,  
At The  
Moment,  
Hovering In  
The Hazy-Pink  
World That Cocaine  
Always Left Her Dangling  
In When Almost Dissipated From  
Her System. She Knew When It Was Gone  
That All She Would Be Left With Was Melancholy,  
Brought On By The Termination Of Her First 'Relationship'. No,  
She Never Had Acknowledged The Truth Behind Words Like "Love", "God",  
And "Bliss", But If Ever There Were A Person To Whom Their Created Meanings Could Cling,

...It Was Him.

It Was Leo,  
The Dear Lion.  
He Seemed Always  
To Understand Her; Even  
The Things She Never Could Grasp  
About Herself Were Plainly Sighted To Him.  
He Was Brilliant, Passionate, Noble, Beautiful, Heroic.  
And She Felt The Gnawing Pain Of Knowledge: He Could  
Never Be Hers; Their Lives Were So Different. But For A Few  
Wonderful Days, She Thought It Possible. Her Life Was Not That  
Kind, Though. Perfection Was Meant For The Girls Like The Rebel.  
Clarisse, The Slave, Was Meant For The Sole Purpose Of Admiring  
Those Who Would Attain Perfection. Like The Rebel, And The Lion.

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Jesse **  
**Deleware  
Fingered The  
Soft, Heavy Fabric  
Of His Shirt Once Again.  
It Was An Unusual Shirt**…  
**No Sleeves, Toga-Like Drapes  
Of Cloth Down The Front And Back.  
His Long Limbs Were Swallowed Up In The  
Sea Of White Cloth, And Only His Right Hand, In  
The Act Of Stroking His Sternum, Showed Above The  
Mass. The Hand Itself Was Ugly; Sickly White, Spatulate  
Palms With Feminine Shanks For Fingers. Each Finger Was  
Curtailed To A Sharp End With Fingernails Filed To Their  
Middle. Far-Slung Legs Were Tightly Wrapped In A Black  
Pair Of Vinyl Pants, And Feet Tucked Away In High-Heeled  
Boots Of The Same Ebony Polish. Sparse Jewelry- Occasion  
Saw Him In A Black, Leather Necklace, But The Only Piece  
Permanently Worn Was The Silver-Red Earring In His Right  
Ear. Strange That He Wore So Little, For A Person Decked  
Out In Such Exotic Clothing. He Dressed Like One Of The  
Pretentious 'Gothic' Atelier That Secretly Admired Him In  
His Sordid, Blackened Ways. There Was One Exception  
In His Ways However- He Was Genuine. Vice Came  
Naturally To Him, And Without Explanation. He  
Felt No Aversion To It, But Bathed Himself  
In The Talent For Sin Bestowed On Him.  
His Physical Attributes Were Just A  
Coating To The Monster That  
Lurked Underneath. Not  
So Much In Action  
As One Might  
Believe,  
But  
In  
The  
Realm Of  
Thought, He Was  
Satan. And He Knew That  
Realization Was Only A Matter Of  
Time. Opportunity To Prove What Evil Was  
Festering Inside Him Would Be Made Accessible  
Soon Enough- He Felt It. A Smile Twisted His Livid  
Lips Into A Seamed Smile, The Beckoning Was As Full  
Of Strength As It Was Tantalizing… What Was In Store?

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With A Name Like Schitzgersby,**  
**You Knew You Were In The  
Presence Of _Pizzaz_. And  
What Better Way For  
The _Pizzaz_ To Be In  
Obvious Display  
Than Deciding  
On Clifford's  
Face To Make  
Its Headquarters?  
His Face Was Sloped  
Inward Toward The Chin,  
So That There Was Hardly A  
Discernable Place Where His Jaw  
Stopped And His Neck Began. Up  
From There, His Mouth Was Long,  
Skewed Into A Curly Smile At All  
Times. The Nose Was A Toucan's  
Beak, Tapering To A Cone At The  
End And Hoisting Up The Very  
Prominent Brow Ridge At It's  
Top. On Said Brow Ridge,  
An Almost Uninterrupted  
Snake Of Shaggy Hair  
Loomed Over Two  
Sagging, Bright  
Eyes. A Long  
Swath Of  
Stubble  
Was  
In A  
Never-To-  
Be Vanquished  
Smear On His Tan  
Skin, And Met The Low  
Sideburns That Exploded Into  
A Bouncy Frieze Of Gray-Black  
Hair Above His Large Forehead. It  
Was This Man Who Owned The Bar  
"Cliff's", And More Than His Very  
Interesting Physical Appearance  
Warranted Him For The Job.  
He Was Also A Very  
Interesting  
Man.

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Bellace Morrigan**  
**Was The Name  
Of The Leader  
Of The Riots.  
She Rejected  
Her Husband's  
Last Name, Though,  
So Everyone Knew Her  
As Bellace Deleware. She Had  
Also Made Sure Her Son Followed  
Suit; The Birth Certificate Read That  
His Name Was Jesse DELEWARE.  
Unhappy With This (And A  
Long Series Of Other  
Tortures), Mr.  
Morrigan  
Had  
Been A  
Long Time  
Away From The  
Both Of Them… And  
It Was The Better For Her;  
Now She Could Be Queen Over  
The Operations Of Not Only All Her  
Feminist Underlings, But Her Estranged  
Son, As Well. Now, She Was Supreme In The  
Reign She Had So Long Craved For. She Kept A  
Sphere Of Influence Over Him, Too. It Was She Who  
Arranged The Liaison Between Jesse And Kataya Ross.  
…Not That He Felt He Would Object; Kataya Was That  
Prized Gem Of Wild Sex Appeal That Every Eligible Man  
Would Have Died To Be Taken To Bed With. It Was This  
Very Appeal That Kept Him Always Within Her Control,  
And One Day Would Make Him The Instrument Of Her  
Gospel; He Must Become The Drone To Her Female  
Force. Through His Influence, She Could Have  
Rule Over Both Male And Female, Over  
Young And Old Of Both Sexes. It  
Was Her Plan To Enslave Him  
To Miss Ross, And Through  
Them Entangle The World  
In Her Glory. And She  
Could Then Attain A  
Dictatorship Deeply  
Rooted In Her Desire.

…MS. Bellace Deleware.

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The Sign Read:  
END PREJUDICE!  
JOIN IN THE FEMALE  
PRIDE MARCHES TODAY!

No Sooner Had The Loveliest Pair Of Jade-Green  
Eyes Settled On These Words Than A Long Arm  
Arced Up To Tear The Pink Plastic Down From It's  
Taped-On Location In The Middle Of The Apartment  
Doors. Two Hands, Normally Concealed Under A Veil  
Of Attractive Grace, Seized Upon Their Newfound Prey  
And Remained Unrelenting Until The Rectangle Of Rosy  
Propaganda Had Been Crumpled Into An Indistinguishable  
Ball. Upon Satiating Their Hunger, These Same Hands Then  
Saw The Wad Of Paper Over To A Green Oil Barrel Used For  
A Garbage Can. A Sigh Accompanied It On The Journey Down  
Into The Blackness, Where It Bounced Around For A Moment On  
The Bottom. One Of The Hands Then Searched Into A Small Pocket,  
Where It Fished Out The Apartment Key. After Fidgeting It Around In  
The Lock For A Moment, It Saw This Key Onto The Top Of A Doorside  
Table And Swung Loose Next To Its Counterpart. The Pair Of Hands Was  
Attached To A Lovely Girl; She Stood About 6 Feet High (More If Including  
The Shoes She Loved To Wear Around) With Blonde, Mid-Back Length Hair,  
A Creamy Complexion Painted Onto Doll-Like Features, And A Flawless Figure.  
3 Pairs Of Earrings Were Privileged Enough To Accompany Her On Their Days, A  
Couple Of Hooped Red Ones Being Favored Above Their Pearl Cousins. The Outfits  
She Dressed Herself In Were Based On No Particular System; No Rotation, No Thought  
Given To Fashion, Not Even Regard For Comfort. This Was A Genuinely Unique Girl**…  
**…And She Was Out To Show The World Just HOW Unique.

It Seemed That These  
Riots Going On In Her  
Neighborhood Were Not  
To Her Liking. As With A  
Person So Deeply Founded  
In Originality, She Had Little  
Sense For What Others Had To  
Say About Her Opinions; Anyone  
Who Stood Against Her Stood On  
The Ground Of A Completely Separate  
Planet. She Was A Woman Alone, And How.

…Ladies and Gentlemen: TRIESTE!

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